Stripped
by Nerikla
Summary: Racetrack makes his last bet. "Please, take the hurt away..." Angsty.


            "Doan' leave me alone," He begged, his hands clenching the rough fabric of my off-white shirt, "please…doan' go yet…"

            I stared down at those dark eyes of his, the horror in my throat crippling my voice. I tried to speak and choked, jerking my head up and down as a reply.

            His fingers were bloody, probably from clawing at his own wound. I had always known that the games he played were dangerous, though it was the lure of that danger that drew him back time and time again.

            "But…oh, God, make it stop hurtin'…please, take the hurt away…" His body convulsed every so often. I watched him gasp for air, one of my hands supporting his neck, the other pressing at his gut, trying to stop the flow of blood.

            His voice was a rasp, a horrible, throaty sound that I never wanted to hear again. I had to turn my head from his wound, for fear I would throw up. Bile rose in my throat as I gagged dryly, pressing my chapped mouth firmly against my shoulder.

            The smell of urine and blood overpowered my nose. He had soiled himself when he was knifed; it was understandable. After a few minutes of horror I could no longer smell anything.

            "Why?" I begged, stripping off my vest awkwardly, leaving bloody streaks on it. I shoved it beneath his head, leaving my hand free to wipe at his bloody face. He winced as I tried to clumsily clear the blood from his mouth. His nose had finally clotted, leaving the rest of his face a red mess. There was a deep cut beneath one of his eyes. Every breath looked painful. "What was this 'bout?"

            "Mon…ey…" His body jerked as he coughed, his spittle running crimson. I wiped it with my sleeve, leaving a dark streak.

            "Ain't it always?" I asked in a futile attempt to make him smile.

            He did, though his mouth trembled. "Yeah, Mush," He croaked.

            "Kid'll be back real soon," I promised, trying to make myself believe, "an' we'll get ya out of here. You shouldn't 'ave come by yerself."

            "Wish I could…do things over," It was a real effort for him to speak now, but he did it for my sake, "could've…been a better…"

            "Doan' talk like that," I frowned, wishing Blink would hurry up, "you're gonna be fine. C'mon. Breathe for me."

            He shook his head in a show of defiance, rasping for air. He winced, turning his face as though he didn't want me to look at him. 

            Not sure what else I could do to help my friend, I pushed harder against his guts. He had been knifed there, leaving a huge slit. I couldn't bring myself to look at it. All I could do was stanch the blood flow until Blink brought help.

            "My last bet," My friend started to laugh, and then choked on his own blood. 

            "Stoppit," I scrunched my face up, trying hard to fight the emotions threatening to overtake my current state of mind.

            "Bet I won't last," Racetrack continued, his eyes duller even though they were unusually watery, "betcha."

            "You're on," I tried to think of anything but the agonizing pain he must be feeling, or how hard he was fighting to be able to speak to me.

            "Tell'm, I, won," He wheezed, in a sudden show of strength crushing my body to his. My belly was touching the gaping, bloody hole in his stomach.

            "Good friend," Racetrack croaked in my ear, "s'ry…can't…stay."

            He died.

            You don't know what loss is until you feel the life fade away from your friend's broken body.

            Stupid. His addiction to betting and games of luck was so stupid.

            He had been willing to die for it; though perhaps he had never truly believed that there was any such risk involved.

            Racetrack won his last bet, though I would never give him the money for it.

            "Stop, Race," I held his body tightly to mine, "come back, Race. C'mon, it was just a fight, you're tough, come back…please…"

            When Blink returned, I was still holding our dead friend.

            The one-eyed boy paused for a moment, and then fell to his knees. He stayed there for a very long time, his forehead touching the ground, his arms covering his head.

            "Race…" My arms felt like they would fall off. I was frozen and smelled like the irony twang of blood, "c'mon, buddy…c'mon…"

            "Dead," Blink said hollowly, "Race's dead."

            "He knew it would happen!" I roared, suddenly angry. I set the body down as delicately as I could in my present state of emotion and then slammed my fists against the ground. "He _knew!_"

            Blink covered his face with his hands.

            "Didn't have to die…like that," I gasped, suddenly short of breath, "not wit' so much…pain…"

            "I know," My friend sounded horrified, though his face was hidden, "I know…"

            The loss was so heavy that I could hardly believe it had happened. I felt Blink come up to me and hold me so tightly that I couldn't breathe. That was fine. I wanted to die anyway.

            We stayed that way until Jack arrived. When Jack left with the body, we were still sitting there, silent, cold, lost…but not alone.


End file.
